


Skin Deep

by Lucyverse



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyverse/pseuds/Lucyverse
Summary: Luke tries to help. Craig doesn't want to listen.





	Skin Deep

Craig marches into Sun Hill with his usual calm, collected confidence, and heads straight to his office.

He bumps into PC Rickman as he rounds the hallway corner, ignores the look of horror that crosses over her face and mumbles a hurried greeting before stepping around her, practically diving through his office door.  

He wonders how long it will be before word gets around the station.

* * *

Not long, he quickly discovers.

Morning briefing is horribly silent. Craig stares determinedly at his notes, cringing under the weight of everyone’s eyes as they drink in the state of him. He does whatever he can to focus on the clipboard in his hands, disregard the uncomfortable shuffling of chairs and the varied expressions of his colleagues that range from disgust to pity.

He can handle disgust. He’s well accustomed to disgust. But he can’t stand, _won’t_ stand pity.

He stands his ground, gives out the orders, stares down anyone who seems remotely interested in commenting on his appearance, and by the time he’s finished they’re all ready to scatter like rabbits.

No one says a word to him. Even Boyden holds his tongue.

* * *

The day drags on, feeling unbearably slow in the summer heat.

What with the sudden lack of crime in the local area, Craig does whatever he can to distract himself, whether it’s productive or not. Shuffling files around, shredding random sheets of paper, making a cup of coffee, flicking through old case notes, tapping his pen against the table top, making another coffee…

He uses his lunch break as an opportunity to escape to the gents, where he has a chance to assess how awful he looks.

A black eye. Split lip. The very obvious outline of a handprint on his throat.

God, he’s a mess.

He splashes water on his face, foolishly hoping it might make his injuries vanish altogether.

* * *

Gina storms into his office just as he’s started on his third cup of coffee. He’s so taken by surprise that he inhales most of the beverage up his nose and spends the next four or five minutes coughing up his lungs, while she watches his suffering in steely silence.

‘Jesus, Craig,’ she chides, once he’s pulled himself together, ‘not _again_.’

He opens his mouth to protest – he’s never snorted a drink up his nose in his life, so what exactly does she mean by “again”? But then he realises she’s talking about his face and sighs at his own idiocy. ‘Please, Inspector, don’t you start.’

‘How can I not?’ Gina snaps, as the sergeant begins to dab apathetically at the dark stains decorating his sweater, ‘for God’s sake, Craig! This is the third time you’ve turned up to work looking like you’ve gone two rounds with Muhammed Ali! What the _hell_ is going on?’

He contemplates lying to her. He has before, after all. The first time this happened, he claimed he had walked into a door. The second time, it was a random drunk off the street who spontaneously decided he didn’t like coppers.

Gina hadn’t believed either of these excuses. It seems pointless reaching for a third.

‘It was an accident.’ He finally replies, flushing furiously when she rolls her eyes at him, ‘there wasn’t…he didn’t mean to-’

‘ _Craig_.’ Gina slams her hands down on the desk, cutting him off, ‘don’t you dare try and bullshit me. He’s _injuring_ you. This can’t go on.’

‘It’s none of your business!’ Craig blurts out without thinking, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth. He knows she’s only trying to help. ‘I-I’m sorry…Ma’am, I didn’t mean…honestly, it’s not as bad as it looks. We had an argument, things got heated, I gave as good as I got-’

‘Did you put your hands on him?’

‘No, but-’

‘Therein lies the difference.’

Craig is too tired to argue with her. There’s a headache the size of Mount Everest growing in his head and he knows he’s going to be popping a fuck load of paracetamol before the day is through. ‘Gina, please, I don’t want to talk about it. I know I look a sight, but I promise it won’t affect my work.’

He can tell she’s still itching to fight him on the matter, but she relents and draws back from the desk, thank God for small mercies. ‘Have it your way, Craig. But this is your last warning – turn up to work looking like someone’s used you as a battering ram again and I’m doing him for ABH.’

‘I won’t press charges-’

‘I don’t care.’

She sweeps out of the office without another word.

* * *

His headache worsens as the day progresses, until the pain is throbbing within every inch of his skull; but he’s already taken twice the recommended dosage of paracetamol and doesn’t want to risk poisoning himself while on duty.

If an overdose doesn’t kill him, starvation will. It’s almost midday and he hasn’t eaten a thing, too ashamed to face the others in the canteen.

It might be his imagination, but the entire room is beginning to spin.

A brisk knock on the door snaps him back to reality and the world stands still long enough for him to summon the person inside. PC Young approaches him like a kitten walking into a room full of lions, clutching a paper plate with a club sandwich and two caramel squares on it.

Craig feels a familiar wave of guilt swamp into his gut. It always surfaces when Kerry is near; she’s one of the few members of the team who’s always been nice to him, never treated him any differently for being what he is. And he betrayed her good nature by making a move on her fiancée.

Well, technically Luke made a move on _him_ , but it’s not like Craig made any gracious effort to dissuade him.  

‘I thought you might be hungry,’ Kerry sets the plate down in front of him, grey eyes darting back and forth to avoid looking at him directly, ‘you’ve been cooped up in here all morning, we’re all beginning to forget what you look like!’

‘Thank you, Kerry.’ Craig’s voice comes out rough and scratchy, a lump the size of a tennis ball beginning to grow in his throat. He’s practically drunk his weight in coffee, but his mouth is still dry as a desert. ‘You really shouldn’t have.’

His stomach growls impatiently, but he knows she’s going to stick around and ask questions about Carl, so he pushes the plate to the side, ‘was there anything else you needed?’  

Kerry’s mouth twitches as she struggles to come up with the right thing to say, her long, delicate fingers fiddling together, ‘Sarge…I know it’s nothing to do with me, but-’

‘Kerry…’ Craig smiles at her, wincing as the gash on his lip stretches along with the movement, ‘I appreciate your concern. But I won’t let my personal life interfere with my work, and you shouldn’t let it interfere with yours either.’

‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Come on, Sarge.’ Kerry puts a hand on his arm, rubbing softly and _God_ , that guilt is stabbing at him harder than ever. ‘Last month you came in with a busted wrist and could barely lift a file folder. Last week you had a handprint on the side of your face. And now…’ she sighs, ‘we’re all so worried about you. Even Matt Boyden thinks Carl should be thrown in the slammer for what he’s done.’

Craig scoffs, but it comes out as a strange, choked grunt.

‘Men like him never change,’ Kerry goes on, ‘I know they don’t. One of my ex-boyfriends…’

She cuts off, shaking her head. Craig’s stomach does a flip, twisting and turning until he feels sick.

‘You keep making excuses for them, try to convince yourself that they’ll change, but they won’t. Today it’s a black eye, tomorrow it’ll be a broken arm, and it’ll just keep going and going. I’m not saying this as your colleague, Sarge, I’m saying this as your friend – you can’t let Carl go on hurting you like this. You deserve _better_.’

Craig stares up at her from his seat determinedly, doing his best to feign indifference. But his sore lip quivers and water rushes to his eyes until he’s forced to blink back tears.

Poor girl. If only she knew. He doesn’t deserve better. He’s a lying coward and she ought to spit in his face.

He opens his mouth to say all this, but he just chokes again. Suddenly, Kerry’s arms are around him, his nose is pressed into her shoulder and he’s inhaling the perfume off her shirt collar.

This is highly unprofessional. This is fraternization. This is –

Craig hugs her back and sobs.

* * *

What happens in the sergeant’s office, stays in the sergeant’s office, Kerry promises. Craig holds her to that promise – the last thing he needs is the rest of the relief finding out he’s a snivelling crybaby.

He feels a lot better once he has some food in him, though his migraine persists right to the end of his shift, until he’s tempted to neck the entire bottle of paracetamol just to end his misery.

There’s a soft knock at the door just as he’s clearing up his desk, likely Gina back to scold him like a child and criticise his poor judgement like she always does. He respects the old battle-axe, is very fond of her in fact. But right now, he wishes she would take her opinions and shove them up her-

‘Sarge?’

Craig feels his chest go tight and inwardly curses at himself for being so pathetic. He swallows, forcing down the lump that has reappeared and addresses Luke without meeting his eyes, ‘PC Ashton?’

Luke enters the room uncertainly, looking over his shoulder into the hallway before closing the door, glancing at the blinds to ensure they’re closed, ‘I…I need to talk to you.’

‘Is this business or personal?’ Craig asks, in a harsher voice than he had intended. He's being unfair, he knows that. But he’s tired, he’s so damn _tired_. ‘If it’s the former, I’m all ears. If it’s the latter, I’m not interested.’

Luke looks stung, as if the sergeant has personally insulted him. He’s like a puppy that’s just been kicked and Craig can’t stand it.

‘Sarge, we need to talk about this.’

Silence fills the room, the only sound to be heard being Craig’s laboured breathing. He hates this. He hates _Luke_ for making him feel this way, for making him pine like a lovesick schoolboy until he can barely string a sentence together in the other man’s presence.

This is all Luke’s fault. He started this. He brought about all these unwanted feelings, _he’s_  responsible for the insatiable yearning in Craig’s heart that makes it almost impossible for him to do his job.

Luke is the reason why Carl gets angry.

‘What happened?’ Luke’s hand is on his shoulder, gently squeezing, the way it did when they were backed into the office corner, chasing each other’s tongues. ‘And don’t tell me you walked into another door, because that’s the lamest excuse in the book.’

Colour creeps into Craig’s cheeks, tinting them red. He wants to scream at Luke, tell him to get out, out of his office, out of his _life_.

He also wants to push him against the wall and kiss him until he’s breathless.

He does neither of these things. Just stares back at him coolly, ignoring the hand on his shoulder.

‘He was drunk when I got home from work yesterday,’ Craig replies to the question, voice cold as ice, ‘he thinks I fancy you. We had an argument about it.’

It’s Luke’s turn to go red. He licks his lips nervously, ‘what did you say?’

‘I told him he was an idiot for assuming such a thing. He didn't appreciate it.’ Craig gestures to his face, 'I'm sure you can guess the rest for yourself.' 

More silence. Luke shifts uncomfortably from the other side of the desk, clearly trying to focus his attention on something, _anything_ but the sergeant’s face. The ticking clock on the wall, the overflowing wastepaper bin, the plant pot in the corner that’s in desperate need of watering…

‘Craig,’ Luke says finally, other hand moving to clasp against Craig’s arm, ‘can’t you see what this is doing to you? You’re one of the strongest, bravest people I know but he has you wrapped around his little finger, making you think you deserve to be a punching bag. You’re a _copper_ , Sarge. We’re supposed to fight against shit like this. Please, I’m begging you, leave that abusive waste of oxygen and do him for domestic assault. It’s killing everyone seeing you hurt like this, it’s killing _me_.’

Craig feels numb. Had this been weeks, nay, _days_ ago, he would have clung to Luke’s every word like it was gospel. Now, he just feels cold, nauseous and Luke is a liar, he’s a fucking _liar_.

‘You’re a fucking liar.’ He says out loud, pretending not to notice the hurt that crosses Luke’s expression, ‘you’re a liar, you’re a cheat and you’re a bloody hypocrite. You have the nerve to slander Carl after everything you’ve done?’

‘Everything _I’ve_ done?’

‘Kissing me like that and then treating me like I’m a piece of dirt straight after. Playing around with my feelings. Using Kerry as your beard-’

‘She’s not-!’

‘This is all your fault.’

The words leave Craig’s mouth before he can stop them, shooting across and plunging directly into Luke’s heart. The hand resting against his shoulder retracts slowly.

‘Sarge…what-?’

‘It’s all _your_ fault.’ Craig repeats, teeth clenching together like a dog ready to bite, ‘things were fine until you started sticking your nose in, doing whatever you could to split us up.’

‘That’s not tru-’

‘You just can’t let anyone else be happy, you have to make everyone feel as miserable as you do.’ Water rushes to Craig’s eyes, burning like a hot poker, but he holds the tears back, unwilling to let Luke see him break down. ‘Well, guess what – I’m not like you. I’m not a pitiful, closeted coward who gets his kicks from kissing other blokes and then snubbing them because he can’t face up to the fact he’s a poof.’

Luke opens his mouth, but Craig is nowhere near finished.

‘Can you imagine what it’s like to have sex with a man, Luke?’ He goes on, voice getting dangerously low as he throws Luke’s words right back in his startled face, ‘a _real_ man, like Carl? You can’t, can you? Your simple little brain can’t even comprehend the thought of having a real man seven inches inside you. Honestly, you’re missing out. And so is Kerry, by the sound of it – if I had a pound for every time I’ve overheard her telling Cryer how she’s had to fake an orgasm for you, I’d be a rich man by now.’

The sharp smack of a hand meeting flesh bounces off the cream coloured walls of the office. Craig’s head jerks to the side with a startled yelp, and he freezes momentarily as his brain attempts to process what’s just happened. Pain pulses though his right cheek. His shoulders heave as his lungs struggle to get enough air.

Luke is staring at his hand as if he’s just killed a man.

The clock ticks louder than ever, keeping in time with Craig’s rapidly beating heart. The tears that have been clinging to his eyelashes throughout this confrontation finally spill over, seeping down both cheeks.

Craig makes a noise, something caught between a laugh and a sob.

‘Unbelievable. _Unbelievable_.’ He smiles at Luke, eyes streaming, nose running, a large patch of red blossoming on the side of his face. ‘You act all high and mighty, as if you’re something special, but when it all comes down to it, you’re no better than Carl at all.’

Luke doesn’t say anything. He’s trembling, eyes wide and horrified, as if his mind hasn’t quite caught up with the situation at hand and he still needs time to take in what he’s just done.

‘You know something, Luke?’ Craig leans in close to his face, giving a loud sniff and wiping his eyes, ‘I was an absolute fool to have loved you. It was the biggest mistake of my life and it makes me feel physically _sick_ to think about what we did in here. So, keep away from me. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t even say my name unless you’re bringing someone in for questioning. And if you _ever_ try to cause trouble for me and Carl again, I’ll ensure that every hour you work in this damned station is a living hell. Are we clear?’       

He doesn’t wait for Luke to answer. He pushes past him, out the door, not stopping until he reaches the toilets, whereupon he shuts himself in the nearest cubicle and proceeds to cry until he’s hoarse.

* * *

By the time he draws up to his house and parks in the driveway, there are three missed calls and six unread messages, all from Luke.

He ignores the voicemails, flicks idly through his inbox and skims over all the apologies before deleting them.

* * *

Carl’s lips taste of whiskey. Craig can’t bring himself to care.

He wraps his arms around him, rakes his nails down his back, whimpers his name over and over, listens to all the apologies and the promises he knows Carl won’t keep, until he’s almost convinced that this week hasn't happened and it’s all just been a horrific nightmare.

He’s trying to fix something that can’t be mended. But he can’t bring himself to give up and walk away.

He kisses Carl, throws his head back as the other man fucks him hard into the mattress, and tries to push Luke Ashton away into the darkest corner of his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Meh, this isn't my best, but I recently started re-watching the old Bill series and my appreciation for Craig Gilmore resurfaced after so many years.


End file.
